Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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20 THE ECHO A YOUNG AUTHOR It was on a bright sunny May morning that Edith Mayfair, singing merrily, ran down the stairs. She greeted her mother with a cheery smile and gave her little crippled sister Ruth a bear hug. Her sunny countenance brought smiles to the clouded faces of her family and seemed to brighten the bare little kitchen. “Good-morning, dearie,” said Mrs. May- fair. “What makes you so happy today? Poor Ruth’s back seems to be worse. If only we had a little extra money to send her to that health farm doctor was talking about.” “Cheer up, motherkins,” replied Edith, “I’m sure we’re going to have some luck. Last night I finished my story, and I’m go- ing to take it to the contest manager today. Oh, if I only win that five hundred dollar prize! Every cent is going towards Ruthie’s expenses a t the farm; and when she comes ck, she’ll be running all around again. Won’t that be wonderful, mother?” ex- claimed Edith rushing across the room and gathering Ruth in her arms. “What would I do without you, my dear?” said Mrs. Mayfair, her face damp y tears. “Oh, now cheer up, mother! Have you a jite for me to eat before I rush off to work? It would never do to be late this morning, for I’m going to ask for a little extra time this noon hour to deliver my story.” Mrs. Mayfair bustled about the kitchen scraping together a meager breakfast for her two children. Every extra penny was being saved so that Ruth, who had spinal trouble, could go away to a farm for the summer where she could get good care. At half past seven Edith went tripping lightly down the street to her work as stenographer in a law office. She held her precious manuscript close to her body as if afraid that she was about to lose it. On the crowded street-car her smile again seemed to cheer up those around her, for the usual grumpy looks on the peoples’ faces had turned to smiles. Even her boss seemed more than good natured this morning. Edith was glad of this because she did not want him to refuse her the extra time at noon. She hurried through the morning mail and soon had it disposed of. Her fingers fairly flew over the keys of her typewriter, and about noon she sat back with a sigh and surveyed her empty desk with satis- faction. She then rose and hurried into the office. “May I have an extra half hour this noon, Mr. Collins?” asked Edith timidly. “I have a very important errand to do.” Mr. Collins swung around in his chair and surveyed her with an attempt at a smile. “Yes, I guess it will be all right. See that you are back here at half past one,” he grudgingly assented. Edith’s joy was now complete, and she fairly danced from the building in her eager attempt to get to the short story office. When she had nearly reached her destin- ation, she slowed down, and her face took on a slightly worried look. Suppose they didn’t accept her story after all her work and hopes. Poor mother and Ruth! How downhearted they would be. She ran the theme of her story swiftly over in her mind. Had she neglected to bring out some important point? Had she made her story interesting enough to hold the reader’s at- tention ? A thousand points that she might have brought out now rushed to her mind. “Well, there is nothing like trying,” she said aloud. Once more she quickened her steps and in a few minutes entered the contest office. “Good morning. What can I do for you?” asked a genial looking, middle aged man. “I — I’ve brought a story to enter in your short story contest,” replied Edith. “Name and address, please. We will an- nounce the winners in next week’s maga- zine,” replied the man. After giving the necessary information, Edith retraced her steps back to the office. How could she possibly wait two weeks? Oh, if only she could win the prize! Yet the two weeks really flew by quite rapidly with the three Mayfair’s hoping constantly for good luck. The last day of the two weeks arrived. Edith arose early and was greeted by a morning that was the exact replica of the one on which she had taken her story to the contest office. Mrs. Mayfair fondly kissed her daughter good-bye as she left for work, and wished her, about the hundredth time, the best of luck While sorting out the mail, Edith came across a thick envelope. She was surprised to see that it was addressed to her. Quickly slitting open the envelope, she took out a long letter. As she did this, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Edith picked it up and was about to lay it on the desk before she perused the letter. The words “Maynard’s True Story Magazine” caught her eye. She snatched the paper up and looked again. She rubbed her eyes, scarce- ly believing what she saw. The check — for that is what it was, was made out in her name for five hundred dollars. Her story had won first prize! Her joy knew no bounds!

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THE ECHO 19 him lay some. With a whoop of delight he pounced on the gum only to drop from the heights by hearing some one holler, “Say, where do you think you are,” accompanied by the screeching of brakes. Then he felt the heavy hand of the law upon his shoulder, and feeling that all was lost he turned and looked up into the face of St. Peter. “I’m sorry, young man, because I thought you had changed. I guess you did not ab- sorb all those lessons taught at Sumner.” “No, I guess I didn’t,” mournfully re- sponded the Sumnerite, “I certainly wish I had. If it hadn’t been for my love of Spear- mint gum and my habit of Jay-walking, I would still be living happily above.” Thus spoke the mournful boy as he plied his way downward. Look carefully to your own faults, and see that this is not your fate. Dorothy Huskins, ’28. BILLY DREAMS A steady thump, thump, thump awoke Billy from his sleep. Sitting up in bed he gazed with astonishment at a funny, little, round headed old man, swinging back and forth on the foot-board of his bed; hitting his funny little jointed feet against the boards as he swung back and forth in glee. The appearance of the little old man made Billy laugh. All head and no body he presented a funny appearance. A little bald spot on the top of his head glistened like snow in the moonlight which flooded the room. Peculiar little bumps stuck out all over his head, and the lights and shadows gave it the appearance of a large, wrinkled russet apple. Two bright spots of blue shone as eyes, and his mouth ex- tended way across his head. Billy’s talk with him was very interest- ing . “For goodness sakes,” said Billy, “Who under the sun are you?” “Well,” said the funny little man, as he stopped his swinging and glanced at Billy with a crooked smile, “I’m the fellow you threw into the corner last night when you said Geography did not do much good. Did you know, Billy, that I can tell you all about the land and people; how land and ocean, rivers and mountains, plains and valleys, temperature and wind and rain- fall control the ways in which men live, from the Siberian hunter in their land of snow and ice, with the prosperous farmers busy at their great harvest on the prairies of North America; with the Egyptians patiently lifting the Nile water with their long sweeps; with the wandering Mongols driving their flocks and herds over the im- mense steppes of Central Asia. From all of these, Billy, you can get a world of in- formation, and if you stop to think that the word Geography comes from the Greek words meaning “earth” and to “write”, you would have a little more patience with a fellow like me who can give you such a wonderful description of the earth on which you live. “Get busy, Billy, and don’t treat a fellow quite so rough when he is trying to help you out.” Myron Holbrook, ’30. THOROUGHLY FRIGHTENED One dark night I was going home from my friend’s house. She had given a Hal- low’een Party. I was passing an old empty house when I heard someone say, “There she is. Grab her!” A colored man stepped from the bush which grew near. I ran and he after me. Every minute he was gaining. I climbed a fence thinking he would not know the way and would not follow. I ran across the lawn towards my aunt’s house; and looking back, I saw the an scale the fence. I stopped running c nd hid in the shrubbery. The colored man looked around for a moment, then started for my aunt’s house as I had done. As I watched him, I realized that he knew the way fully as well as I did. Nearer and nearer he came. When he reached the shrubbery where I lay hidden, he stopped and said, “Come out from behind those shrubs. I know you are there, because I saw you when you hid.” I did not know what to do. Suddenly I remembered the trap door to my aunt’s cellar. It was close to where I lay. My fingers were feeling the wall in search of the door. I felt it al- most directly in back of me. The man made a movement as if he would enter the shrubs. I threw myself against the door, and it gave to my weight. I crawled in and locked the door on the in- side. I then lighted a match and found my way to the cellar door. I entered the kitchen by way of a short flight of stairs. 1 stopped in horror and was about to run down cellar again. There sitting by the stove was the colored man who had chased me. Seeing I was frightened, he said, “Do not be afraid, it is only your father.” Then he laughed, and I laughed too. He took a cloth and began cleaning the burned cork from his face. I asked, “Why did you chase me and not say who you were?” He smiled and replied, “This is Hal- low’een Night. I too must have fun.” Marietta Regan, ’31.

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THE ECHO 21 Her first thought was to rush home to mother. Indeed she was half-way to the door, without her coat, when she realized that she could not leave work. Oh, would that day never end ? Everything went wrong. The boss asked for an important business-house address which could not be found anywhere. Many times she had to ask him to repeat when she was taking a let- ter. This was far from making him good natured. Later when he found mistakes in her typing, his anger had reached its limits. He stormed out to her office and proceeded to make her listen to a half-hour lecture on being a great deal more careful in the fu- ture if she wished to keep her position. This scolding brought her to, and Edith managed to finish the rest of the day in peace. The cars were never so slow as they were that night. Edith kept her hand in her pocket-book so she could make sure not to lose that precious check. She danced up the stairs and rushed into the kitchen crying, “Mother! Ruth! Mother! Ruth!” At first they were startled; but when they saw Edith’s beaming face, they knew the whole story. They all cried with joy; they all laughed. Edith danced about; Mrs. Mayfair rushed around doing nothing, and little Ruth clapped her hands in joy. There was not another more pleased fam- ily in New York, than the Mayfair’s that night. After they had finally settled down some- what, Mrs. Mayfair and Edith started right away to make plans for Ruth’s trip to the health farm, which was to last three glori- ous months. Helen Gray, ’28. SUSAN The big mill pond was frozen over and, as usual, every evening, it was crowded with skaters. Every person who could pos- sibly skate at all went skating: tiny tots, wee bits of things; adults, even folks as old as fifty; the high school crowd, all of them; the minister — he was a dandy sport; and the teachers, they always went; Yes, every- one who could possibly skate went skating. Susan went skating too. She went alone and had a good time, at least she pretended she did, skating there alone. No one knew, however, how much she wanted to be in- vited to snap-the-whip with the rest of the high school crowd, to be invited to some of the good times after skating, such as: re- freshments at Anne’s house, a dance at Nell’s. — a sleigh ride planned all unex- pectedly for the next night, or perhaps, a walk to some near-by town with skating and refreshments t here. But, she was never asked because she was just a plain little person who had never been invited to the “crowds’ ” good times and whom no one thought of inviting. Susan wasn’t homely; neither was she good looking. Her black hair was as “straight as a poker,” her complexion had the olive tinge which one usually connects with a Spaniard, her lips were very red, but her brown eyes were the life of her face. They twinkled, laughed, and sparkled. The most objectionable thing about her how- ever, was her clothes. They never were the pretty bright colors one associates with a young person but always a dingy brown which made her look as dark as a foreigner, but she wasn’t. Her Yankee name, Susan Whitman, showed that. It wasn’t until Susan’s aunt came to town that the “crowd” began to notice any change in Susan, and then it was only when a new fellow, Billy Worthington by name, whom all the girls were simply “crazy” over, asked, “Who’s that pretty girl?” “Where? Why — why — oh, girls, look! Can that possibly be Susan Whitman?” Anne questioned. “Why, so it is,” replied Jane, and the “crowd” simple stared at Susan. What a different Susan though! Instead of the usual brown things, she had “blos- somed out’ in a red sweater and English tarn which made her look almost beautiful. Instead of the heavy brown shoes, her feet were incased in new black skating shoes and, best of all, she could skate and skate well. Was it the innumerable hours of practising that had made her a good skater or the new clothes that attracted the “crowd’s” attention to her skating? Well you can decide that. It was much to the girls’ amazement that Billy skated over to Susan. “May I skate with you?” he asked. “Why — why, I’d be delighted,” Susan answered. What happened after I am not allowed to tell, but I will say that Susan became one of the “crowd” not only because she was Billy’s girl friend, but also because she had “it”. Jessie Beers, ’28. CAN YOU IMAGINE The Seniors not late Helen without a smile Maybelle without her lipstick Mr. Neal not giving afternoon sessions Art with his lessons not prepared Marion without her history Stanley hurrying Jarda with knickers on Bob’s hair mussed up Herbie six feet tall